THE DYING YEAR.
1. Does it not seem but yesterday
This dying year was born,
And Age and Youth, all blithe and gay,
Approached its festive morn?
But li! ‘tis gone, as quick as dream,
With Time’s unceasing tide;
Yet “on the sands of Time” there gleam
Its traces deep and wide.
2. To many a soul this year has lent
From Danger’s threats relief;
And many a soul, too, it has sent
To ruin, pain and grief.
While those it bless’d with all their needs
Its praise in triumph sing,
The hearts it crushed like broken reeds
Its death-knell fain would ring.
3. But it is not the change of year
That joy or grief does bring;
For in himself a man does bear
Of joy and grief the spring,
And he, by working, heart and soul,
In love to man and God,
Through thick and thin, can reach his goal
And make himself his lord.
4. Tho’ acts of rulers, rashly made,
His soaring flights restrain,
Tho’ drinking booths his soul invade
At every street and lane,
Tho’ sickness, want, and poverty
His ailing heart assail,
Yet man can work his liberty,
If strength of will prevail.
5. And hence, brood not on what is past,
And waste thy time, my friend,
But live in the present, which thou hast,
And work but with this end,
That day by day, thy soul may grow
In wisdom more and more,
And each revolving year may show
A greater growth than ‘fore.